The busier I get, the more tasks I give to Frances. That seems fair, doesn’t it? She’s a character whose life I create. If I’m juggling a dozen tasks at a time, why should she be allowed to recline on a chaise lounge eating bon-bons?
To be honest, I don’t do it intentionally. It’s just that I’ve noticed it’s kind of a thing for me—she is as busy as I am—sometimes more, never less. That got me wondering about other issues I’ve dropped into her fictional life. For the record, I have never solved a real crime or been accused of one. My first husband is still my husband. He never cheated on me or died in his lover’s bed. I definitely don’t encounter murderers or murder victims roughly every two to three months. Compared to Frances, my life is pretty ordinary.
This is not to say, I don’t have problems. Everyone who deals with marriage, family, friends, work, deadlines, and appointments inevitably encounters problems. Not to mention all the problems in the broader world that we often feel powerless to address. The more stressed I get, the more I turn to writing. I think I’m subconsciously working out my stress by solving Frances’ fictional problems. I have to admit, writing is definitely a stress buster for me. When I return to the real world, I’m much more relaxed and solutions to my own problems are often clearer. I’m grateful that writing does that for me and sometimes reading does too.
I just as frequently choose a book to change my mood as I choose one to match it. But they are almost always mysteries. Working through the suspects and the clues and red herrings and coming up with the right villain before the denouement is so satisfying. And I do tend to return to the real world afterward with a clear head and better attitude. Maybe it’s therapy, maybe it’s magic.
Is reading a stress buster for you? Or do you have another method?
